


Discovery

by Sorahica



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22382968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorahica/pseuds/Sorahica
Summary: Snufkin is a wanderer; Moomintroll an aspiring adventurer. Both are used to discovery, even if it finds them against their will.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll & Snusmumriken | Snufkin, Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	1. Moominvalley

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a long project, and it may take some time for me to finish. But I needed to be able to say I'd published something, ever in my life, and the first two chapters work as a standalone story. Leave comments if you enjoy!

Snufkin was a wanderer by blood as well as by trade. For as long as he could remember he had been a vagabond, never settling in one place long enough to find a home. Presumably he had parents; that was generally how these things worked, he had learned. Presumably _someone _had taken care of him as an infant, but whoever they were, Snufkin didn’t remember them. He had memories of his young childhood, sleeping on the porches and couches of whoever would take him in, or in beds of pine needles when they wouldn’t. But there was no consistent factor, no anchor to tie him down. One day he traded his dinner for a fellow vagabond’s spare tent, and no longer needed company at all.  
He had tried to settle down, once, mostly out of curiosity. One early-summer day he pitched his tent on the outskirts of a small village, introduced himself to the villagers, and tried to grow roots. He lasted two weeks. The stiflingly still air and the prying eyes of the village children had uprooted and rotted what few shoots he’d sent down. The next morning the handful of villagers who’d bothered to learn his name found his campsite empty, without even a note of goodbye.  
Snufkin didn’t need friends to be happy. His friends were the birds, the lapping of water against his fishing lure, the echo of his harmonica in the wind. The mundanity of home life would bore him, he told himself, so it was better to keep moving. No, this Snufkin was a wanderer by nature, and there was no point in trying to change that.__

____

____

One mid-spring morning when Snufkin was still at the age that he wasn’t offended to be called a child, he followed a forest path to a valley. There were no signs in this place, which made its discovery all the more enchanting. It was lovely, all spring flowers and butterflies, and Snufkin knew this was where he would be making camp, though it was barely past midday.  
The creek beside his campsite glistened enticingly, tempting him with the thought of the fish within. But as luck would have it, he’d broken his last hook a week ago. Ah, well; perhaps the folks in that charming tower of a house across the bridge could lend him wire.  
The door was answered before Snufkin got to the second knock, by a creature Snufkin had never seen the likes of before. A troll, but rotund and large-nosed and with soft little dog ears. This one wore an apron around its belly, and greeted Snufkin with the softest of green eyes.  
“Excuse me.” Snufkin said, taking off his ratted cap out of courtesy. “I don’t mean to disturb, but I was wondering if you had some spare wire I could borrow? I intend to go fishing, but-”  
“Of course, dear.” She interrupted with a smile, moving out of the doorway. “Please, come inside.”  
“Oh, please, that won’t be necessary.” said Snufkin, who hadn’t bathed in over a month.  
“Nonsense.” the troll insisted, gesturing him inward. “I’ll put some tea on the kettle, and ask Pappa if he has what you need. You look as though you deserve a rest.”  
“Oh, um, if you insist.” Snufkin said, stepping in. “I’d rather have coffee, though, if you have it.”  
The troll smiled, beaming as though Snufkin had just serenaded her under moonlight.  
“Of course. I should have asked.” Snufkin gestured inconsequentiality, and she moved to the stairway where she called upwards, “Moomintroll! Come greet our new guest!”  
Snufkin started to follow her, wondering idly if he should remove his shoes. She had been barefoot, but he suspected that was simply because she actually didn’t own shoes. Before he could make a decision his thoughts were interrupted by the pounding of feet on the stairs above him. He looked up, and there was Moomintroll.  
He was a smaller version of the troll that must have been his mother, but he was unclothed, and he was young, about Snufkin’s age, maybe younger. Snufkin’s gaze had stopped him halfway down the stairs, gripping the railing with one furry paw, clear blue eyes deep with fascination.  
For some reason for the first moment the boys could only stare at each other, Moomintroll’s gently swishing tail the only movement in the room. Then suddenly they snapped out of it, embarrassment catching up with them. Snufkin replaced his hat, and Moomintroll sheepishly made his way down the rest of the stairs.  
“I’m Moomin.” the boy-troll said, holding out a paw and barely meeting Snufkin’s eyes. Snufkin gave him his paw, conscious of how dirty it was.  
“I saw your campsite. Are you going to be staying here?” Moomin asked, a touch shyly.  
Snufkin shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”  
Moomin’s eyes showed a hope Snufkin could have drowned in. Luckily, he was rescued by Moomin’s mother, calling him into the kitchen.  
Moomin followed him, sitting eagerly at the table while his mother served coffee. Then she left to fetch “Moominpappa”, and Moomintroll’s words bounced out of him.  
“Where are you from?”  
Snufkin sipped the coffee- a little weak, but otherwise quite excellent. “Nowhere. Everywhere.”  
Moomin’s eyes lit up. “Are you an adventurer? I’ve always wanted to meet an adventurer.”  
Snufkin took another sip before answering.  
“I don’t think ‘adventurer’ is the right term. I’ve been a lot of places.”  
“Do you have stories?”  
“Yes.” Snufkin nodded. “Lots of stories.”  
“Will you tell me them?”  
Snufkin glanced at the little troll, amusement rather than ire filling him. “Maybe later.”  
That seemed to be enough for Moomin, which Snufkin thought was admirable. Just then, Mommin’s mamma returned with a gentleman moomin in a crisp top hat, who introduced himself as Moominpappa, and offered Snufkin a choice of a hook from an impressively stocked bait box. Snufkin choose the one that looked the least expensive, and stood to leave.  
“Are you going already?” Moomintroll protested.  
“I’ll just be across the bridge.” Snufkin found himself saying, just to see the smile that spread across Moomintroll’s whole snout. “If that’s already with you folks, of course.”  
Moominmamma spoke before her son could. “Of course, dearie. Stay as long as you like.”  
“Thank you.” Snufkin said, nodding a goodbye and heading to the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Moomintroll stand as though to follow, but his mother shot him a glare, and Snufkin was allowed to leave unobstructed. 

It was after suppertime- though with the poor fishing, Snufkin still hadn’t eaten since breakfast- when Moomintroll came to visit. Snufkin saw him, bounding along down the path, waving like a madman. He didn’t move from his fishing post, but tipped his hat at the approaching moomin. Moomin calmed as he got closer, and ended up sitting a safe distance from Snufkin along the bank.  
“Evenin’.” Snufkin said, because the silence was a little too awkward even for him.  
“Oh!” the little troll said, seeming surprised. “Uh, evening.”  
That would have been enough conversation for the night for Snufkin, but a minute later Moomintroll spoke again.  
“How’s the fishing?” he said, in a tone that said it wasn’t the question he’d wanted to ask.  
“Not great.” Snufkin replied, shifting his pole slightly. “It’s a little late for minnow season, these days.”  
“Pappa and I go fishing sometimes. Out on the ocean.” Snufkin saw Moomin look at him, but kept his gaze on the water. “We could take you, someday, if you like.”  
Snufkin didn’t reply, only nodded gently in agreeance. Moomin looked away.  
A moment later. “Oh! I almost forgot!”  
Moomin picked up the little tied cloth he’d ran down with- funny, Snufkin hadn’t noticed it. He scooted closer to Snufkin and offered it to him.  
“Mamma made a raspberry tart for dessert tonight. We had extra, so I thought I’d bring you some.”  
Snufkin took one hand off his pole to accept the package. He inspected it- a neatly wrapped tart, with a smell so delicious it made his stomach whine.  
“Thank you.” he said, setting it beside him to avoid the temptation of tearing into it like a feral raccoon.  
Moomin beamed. “We have more if you want it. You’re always welcome inside, d- er, um-”  
Snufkin looked at the flustered Moomin out of the corner of his eye, confused. The troll spoke.  
“What was your name? I don’t think I was listening when you said it.”  
Now it was Snufkin’s turn to blush; he’d never said it.  
“Snufkin.” he said, looking away, but not before he saw an unexplainable smile grace the moomin’s cheeks.  
They sat there another moment, Snufkin silently wishing Moomin would leave, so he could dive into that tart.  
“Can you teach me how to fish?” Moomin blurted suddenly, like he’d been holding himself back. “Pappa never lets me hold my own pole, he says I’m not big enough. But you’re my size, and you know, so you could teach me.”  
“No.” Snufkin said simply. Then, surprising even himself, “But you can watch, if you’d like.”  
Moomin nodded, and the joy on his face was like Snufkin had just asked for his hand in marriage. He looked away.  
He expected Moomin to be chatty, or even get bored and return to the house. But he didn’t. He simply sat, arms-reach from Snufkin, watching the water and the slow sunset in a silence that became surprisingly comfortable.  
Snufkin didn’t catch anything- not a great teacher, really, but he got to see how beautiful the scenery was here. Perhaps he would stay a night or two more. Once night almost finished its descent, he spoke.  
“It’s getting quite late.” he said to his companion. “You’d best go back inside.”  
Moomin yawned, and nodded begrudgingly. He stood, dusted nonexistent dirt from his haunches.  
“Won’t you be cold too, Snufkin?”  
Snufkin shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”  
Moomin frowned. “Well, if you’re sure. If you need an extra blanket, or anything…”  
Snufkin smiled slightly. “I’ll know where to go, yes.”  
Moomin smiled back, but Snufkin noticed how quickly it turned bittersweet.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
Snufkin looked out the dusk, at the valley and its incomprehensibly kind moomin family. And, realizing the truth as he said it, Snufkin said, “Yes.” 

The next morning Moomintroll came by with a couple of his friends; a maiden who looked a lot like a moomin but was evidently a “Snork”, and a suspicious-looking chap by the name of Sniff. They were going flower-picking, and invited Snufkin along. Bored of fishing, Snufkin agreed nonchalantly. The other children brought him to an even prettier part of the valley, where they started picking daisies and twisting them into crowns. This was a skill Snufkin lacked, so he sat idly twisting the stems into each other, content to watch.  
A giggling Moomintroll snuck up behind him while he was distracted, and put something on his hat. Snufkin yelped and pulled it off his head, expecting a trick. Instead, a circle of daisies and dandelions decorated the hat’s tip. It was so lovely and well-matched that Snufkin couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. Or to remove the crown until days afterward.  
Snufkin found himself warming up to this particular band of children, if slowly. He joined in their games, asked them about the in-jokes they so clearly shared, and they were all too happy to tell. But they never pushed at him, always gave him space. Very slowly, he came out of his shell.  
Moomin dragged him, hand-in-hand, to a lunch prepared by Moominmamma. Snufkin appreciated it greatly, though he didn’t say it. Afterwards, the children sat at the patio, sipping raspberry juice and chatting. Snufkin zoned out; full-bellied and warm, the oncoming summer called to him. He sat on the railing, found his mouth organ, and serenaded it.  
When he finished he realized the chatter of voices had stopped. He turned, and Moomin was staring at him mouth agape, as though he’d just seen the face of God. Snufkin blushed as a flood of praise came from Moomin and the others, saying it was the loveliest thing they’d ever heard.  
Later, after the crew had extracted from Snufkin one of his tales from last year’s travels, Moomin said the same thing about Snufkin’s voice. Snufkin only blinked at him. What a strange little Moomintroll. 

There was still much to explore in Moominvalley, Snufkin thought as he decided to stay another night. Then he had made plans with moomin to go fishing; then, Pappa had told him about some fascinating songbirds that migrated up in midsummer, and of course he had to be there for that. Every night he’d remind himself that this wasn’t permanent, that in a few days, or maybe a week, he’d continue his wanderings. Once or twice he even got to the point of starting to pack- but then Moomin’s smile would greet him the next morning, and he’d melt into another day of permanence.  
It wasn’t until fall, when Moomin casually mentioned his hibernation, that Snufkin’s heart quieted enough to let the call of the wild overcome him. Silently, without word or note, he left.


	2. Snufkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: differences are due to faulty little memories and mixed-up priorities

Moomintroll led a simple, secluded life, though he certainly wasn’t aware of it. From the moment he was born his life had had a steady rhythm, and the joy was in finding new ways to sing along with it. Mamma and Pappa were excellent to him, and did their best to give their son the experience he needed to be well-rounded not just in stomach but in spirit. But the very nature of his seclusion tarnished this. So many things were stories for Moomintroll, from unicorns to pirates to the very concept of a jungle. So Moomin filled his valley with stories, and gobbled up new ones like candy.   
It was a beautiful spring day, and the little Moomintroll was eager to fill it with a whole lot of nothing. Mamma made him help with chores all morning, but he didn’t complain. He was cleaning the living room when he saw the stranger emerge. Inquisitive, Moomintroll went to the window and peered out.  
They were a strange creature, furless and rather tall; though perhaps that was just the hat. Their clothes were well-worn and their pack well-stuffed. Moomin watched as they stood at the bank of the creek, shading their eyes with one paw as they surveyed the valley. Then they nodded, set down their pack, and began to construct a tent. Moomin stared, wide-eyed, until a paw on his shoulder pulled him from his reverie.   
“It’s rude to stare, dear.” Moominmamma said smoothly. Moomin turned his amazement onto her.   
“Who are they?”   
“I don’t know. It’s none of our business.”   
Halfway through her sentence Moomin had turned to put his paws on the windowsill, tail swishing anxiously.   
“I want to go see them.” the little moomin declared, and turned to the door.  
“Moomin…” Mamma warned, and the disapproval in her tone made him wince.  
“Maybe they need help with their tent!” Moomin pleaded. “Or- or they need directions, or-”   
“It’s not your place to bother them.” Mamma chided. “And if you’re just going to gaze out windows all morning, you may as well go do it from your room. Maybe tidy up that mess you and Sniff made last night, while you’re at it.”  
“Yes, Mamma.” Moomin sighed, hanging his head and trudging up the stairs. Behind him, he saw Mamma steal a glance out the window, the same excited curiosity in her eyes. 

Moomintroll’s room didn’t offer a view of the bridge or its mysterious stranger, which Moomin was sure Mamma had been aware of. He moped, putting away a handful of toys at a snail’s pace. But then it didn’t matter, because Mamma was calling him downstairs to meet a “guest”, and Moomin _knew _, just _knew _, that he was going to get to see the stranger.____

____Moomin raced down the hall, watching his feet to keep from stumbling on them, only thinking to look up when he was halfway down the stairs. And then suddenly, standing in the entranceway like a vision, was the stranger.  
He was a vagabond for sure, all worn leather boots and muddy paws. He had removed his hat, revealing a mess of dark (or perhaps just dirty) auburn hair. The pockets of his deep green cloak were weighed down with what Moomin could only imagine were unfathomable treasures.He was about Moomin’s age, which made him all the more perfect. He was _beautiful _, something out of an adventure novel, and he blinked up at Moomin with the deepest brown eyes while they stood frozen in this impossible moment. And Moomin knew, in that instant, that he was in love with him.  
The stranger replaced his hat, completing his aesthetic. Suddenly Moomin was bashful; had he been staring? Was it obvious that he had been staring? Did the stranger already hate him?  
Moomin sheepishly made his way down the rest of the stairs, both desperately needing and completely unable to meet the stranger’s eyes.   
“I’m Moomin.” he said, because at least he was sure of that. He held out a paw, and the stranger took it, and Moomin was momentarily stunned by how soft it was. He shook himself out of it.   
“I saw your campsite.” Moomin admitted, like it had been a sin. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he asked, “Are you going to be staying?”  
The stranger seemed to think about it. He shrugged, and said in a soft voice that seemed to cradle each word. “I’m not sure.”   
Moomin’s heart had never felt such hope, or such mystery. He felt clearly how _desperately _he wanted the stranger to stay; and also clearly how afraid he was to voice it.  
He followed the stranger into the kitchen, where he could feel Mamma’s gaze boring into him, urging him to be “respectful” and “polite”. He sat obediently as the stranger sipped his coffee, words bubbling behind his snout. Moomin had tried coffee, once, and found it far too bitter; but the stranger drank it down like it was ambrosia.   
Then Mamma left, and Moomin couldn’t keep himself from his wanderer any longer.  
“Where are you from?”  
The stranger sipped his coffee, unbothered and lovely. “Everywhere.” he said finally.  
“Are you an adventurer?” Moomin pressed. “I’ve always wanted to meet an adventurer.”  
“I wouldn’t say I’m an _adventurer _.” the stranger mused absently. “I’ve certainly been a lot of places.”  
Moomin had thought the answer he’d been looking for was “yes”, but he decided his wanderer’s answer had been better yet.  
“You must have stories?” he asked.  
The stranger smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing Moomin had ever seen.   
“Yes.” he said. “Lots of stories.”  
“Will you tell me?” Moomin asked, with the same longing as though he was asking for his hand in marriage.  
The stranger looked at him, and his heart stopped.  
“Later.”  
And the joy that filled Moomin stunned him for long enough for Mamma to return with Pappa, and pull the two apart. Pappa lent the stranger the fishing hook he’d apparently asked for, and then to Moomin’s dismay, the stranger started to leave.  
“Are you going already?” Moomin protested, not even trying to keep the disappointment from his tone.  
“I’ll just be across the bridge.” the stranger said, which was enough for Moomin, for now.   
He tried to follow his wanderer as he left, but Mamma’s glare was as heavy as a paw on his shoulder, forcing him back down.  
It wasn’t until later that Moomin realized that despite all the questions he asked, he’d never learned the wanderer’s name._______ _ _ _

__________Mamma made him stay in the house until after dinner, despite the fact that he spent most of that time simply vibrating. None of his friends visited, either, so his excitement and adoration had nothing to do but grow. They had stew for dinner, and after Moomin obediently finished and cleaned his dish, he risked pulling on Mamma’s apron, the obvious question in his eyes.  
Mamma sighed good-naturedly. “Oh, alright. But take some dessert- he’s sure to be hungry by now.”  
Moomin bounced impatiently from foot to foot as Mamma carefully wrapped up some of tonight’s dessert. He snatched it from her paws and was already racing to the door as he heard Pappa laugh, and comment to Mamma that Moomin was “awfully fond of that boy.” And then Moomin was out the door, on his way to his wanderer. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Moomin had two missions in mind as he hurtled down the path to the bridge. One, to learn the stranger’s name, and two, to make sure he would still be there tomorrow. Then he saw his wanderer, sitting by the riverbank and fishing, like something out of a picture book, and Moomin was no longer capable of thought. He slowed, and sat down not-too-close to the stranger, and tried not to stare.  
The stranger didn’t look at him, but after a moment he said, “Evenin’.”   
Mommin momentarily snapped out of it. “Oh. Uh, evening.”   
There was a long pause, and Moomin began to worry he’d embarrassed himself, or worse, missed his chance at a conversation. The silence was choking him, so he spat it up with the most non-committal question he could think of.   
“How’s the fishing?”  
“Not great.” the stranger said in that soft tone. “It’s too late for minnows, I’m afraid.”  
“Pappa and I go fishing sometimes. Out on the ocean.” Moomin said, and that seemed to scare away the silence for a moment. Then he remembered the latter of his missions, and said, “We could take you, sometime, you know. If you’d like.”  
The stranger only hummed. Moomin looked around him for some words, and found raspberry tart instead.   
“Oh! I almost forgot! I brought you dessert.”   
Moomin dared to scoot closer to the stranger and offer Mamma’s neatly-wrapped parcel. “I didn’t know if you’d had dinner, but Mamma makes excellent tarts.”  
The wanderer casually took one paw off his fishing pole to accept it. He sniffed it, and while his face remained stoic and beautiful, Moomin noticed how his eyes brightened and flickered up to Moomin’s. Moomin beamed. The wanderer set it beside him and picked up his pole, and the disappointment of not getting to see him eat it was far outweighed by the happiness of knowing he’d enjoy it.  
“There’s more where it came from, if you ever want it.” Then, in excited adoration, “You can always come up to visit when you’d like, my d- uh-”  
And then Moomin suddenly remembered the former of his two missions. He remembered it, because in his fervor he’d wanted to call the wanderer by his name, and finding none in mind and addled by love, he’d substituted instead a pet name he’d heard his parents call each other. Moomin reeled back, mortified. The stranger simply looked at him, head tilted adorably, confused. This only flustered Moomin more, and the words stumbled out of him clumsily.   
“I uh- I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name, earlier.”   
The wanderer looked away, and Moomin could just imagine him laughing at him. In his mind he’d imagined asking much more smoothly; with a paw on the shoulder, perhaps, or a wink, maybe even flustering the wanderer instead of himself.   
“Snufkin.” the wanderer said, quietly.   
Moomin was momentarily stunned; he’d forgotten he’d asked a question. Just as quickly, joy filled him. Snufkin! What a wonderful name! How melodic! A grin spread across Moomin’s whole snout, and he revelled in the discovery until the silence got to him. The wanderer sat, and fished, impervious to the fount of love beside him.   
“Can you teach me to fish?” Moomin blurted before he could stop himself. “Pappa never lets me, but you know so much, and you’re my age, so you could teach me.”   
“No.” Snufkin said, and Moomin’s heart plopped sadly into the river. Then it leapt right back out as the wanderer continued, “But you can watch, if you’d like.”  
Moomin nodded furiously, and curled his legs underneath him, and _watched _. Moomin was not a patient child, but right now he was a smitten one, and he could have watched Snufkin all night.  
Eventually, Snufkin asked him to leave, no ire in that smooth voice. Night had fallen; Moomin hadn’t noticed. Moomin stood, and brushed imaginary dust from his haunches, and pled one last time.   
“Will I see you tomorrow, Snufkin?” How beautiful the name sounded on his lips!  
Snufkin almost looked at Moomin- but no, he was gazing mysteriously across the river.  
“Yes.” he said, and it was only with that promise that Moomin was able to sleep that night. ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Snorkmaiden visited early the next morning. Moomin had been up for hours, nervously pacing the floor, glancing outward occasionally to be sure Snufkin’s tent remained. Together, Moomin and Snorkmaiden ran off to fetch Sniff, and on the way back to Moominhouse Moomin excitedly told them about his wanderer, his stories, his beauty.  
“I’m going to ask him to play with us today.” Moomin declared.  
Sniff opened his mouth to protest, but then they rounded the corner to Moominhouse, and Snufkin was out of his tent, and Moomin forgot that there were other people in the world.   
Snorkmaiden grabbed at Moomin’s paw to keep him from running forward, and Moomin instinctively whined at her.  
“Moomintroll, you don’t even know what we’re going to do.”  
Moomin fidgeted in her grip, but then realized she was right. “Oh. We could go exploring?” Then he slapped himself with his free paw. “No, he’s already been exploring.”  
“Mushroom hunting?” Sniff, ever eager for a bite, suggested.  
“No, that’s too separate. I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him.”  
“What about flower picking?” Snorkmaiden said, and while flowers and meadows weren’t quite Moomin’s style, he had a sudden vision of Snufkin smiling with a fistful of daisies in paw, and his heart swelled.  
“Yes.” Moomin decided. “Flower-picking it is.” _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Moomin introduced Sniff and Snorkmaiden, and asked (a little shyer than he’d planned) if Snufkin would like to come with them to the meadow. Snufkin shrugged, and stood, and said, “Sure.”  
Moomin grinned.   
“Is it true you’re an adventurer?” Snorkmaiden asked as they walked.   
“Not really.” Snufkin replied softly, always soft. “Not yet, at least.”   
“Where do you come from?” Sniff asked.   
“Nowhere.” Snufkin said definitively.   
“But what about your house? Your family?” Sniff continued. Moomin slowed his pace so he could walk behind and watch his wanderer.  
“I haven’t any.” Snufkin replied.  
“What about parents? Everyone has parents.” Sniff pressed.  
“Not everyone.” Snufkin said, and Moomin watched him flinch inwards slightly. There was a look in his eyes like that of when Snork got in a mood and refused to talk to anyone; when Mamma would tell them to give him his space. Seeing it now in Snufkin, Moomin felt an immense surge of protectiveness.   
“Then who raised you? You-”  
Moomin swatted him with his tail, hard on the bottom. Sniff jumped, and looked back at Moomin, who gave him a silencing glare. Sniff huffed, but shut up. Snufkin seemed to have retreated so far into himself to have not even noticed the exchange. Moomin caught up, and walked beside him, and made sure no one else pressured him for the rest of the walk.   
The light returned to Snufkin’s eyes quickly enough, and when they stepped into the little forest meadow Moomin got to see the spark of happiness is brought. Good; that was the reaction he’d been hoping for.   
Snorkmaiden grabbed his hand and pulled him into the meadow, babbling about how many dandelions there were and how they should have brought a basket and hey, did he think they could find some orchids to give her brother, they were his favorite. By the time Moomin glanced back, Snufkin had knelt in the daffodils, and his soft smile was contagious. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Moomintroll, look at me!”  
Snufkin was now twisting dandelions into some ineffable pattern; Moomin tore his gaze away. “What was that, Snorkmaiden?”   
Snorkmaiden huffed, crossed her arms, still holding the flower crown she’d been attempting to get her friend to look at. “Why do you care so much about that boy, anyway?”   
A blush spread over Moomin’s cheeks. “I don’t care about him _that _much.” he lied.  
“You can’t stop staring at him!” Snorkmaiden argued.  
“He’s just…” Snufkin raised his head, and Moomin had to duck to avoid his gaze. “Interesting, is all.”   
“Interesting my tail. I think you’re in love with him.”   
But Moomin hadn’t heard her- he’d caught sight of the flower crown she’d dropped.  
“Hey, let me see that.” he said, snatching it before she could stop him. “I have an idea.” ___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Ultimately, he made his own flower crown to use as the gift, deeming Snorkmaiden’s too monochrome. He didn’t want Snufkin to see it, so he had to surreptitiously pick the flowers, turn his back while we wove. Then he worried that Snufkin wouldn’t accept, and decided he’d take the permission out of it. He waited until he wasn’t looking and ran into the woods to make his attack.  
His wanderer yelped when Moomin struck, and fell, legs akimbo, into the daffodils. Moomin tried not to laugh, but failed. Snufkin whipped off his hat and caught sight of the crown; and then he was laughing too, a deep belly-laugh that Moomin already loved. Then Snufkin flopped into the grass, and Moomin tumbled down beside him, and when their eyes met over the flowers it only set them off into more giggles.   
Eventually Snufkin sat up, replaced his newly decorated hat. Moomin stayed on the ground and watched the paw Snufkin had propped himself up on.   
Above him, Snufkin laughed, shifted, and said. “Can you teach me how to do that?”  
Moomin looked up, the morning sun making an angelic glow around Snufkin’s face. “Teach you what?”  
Snufkin fingered the flower crown on his hat. “The… flower weaving.”  
Moomin shot up like a spark. “You don’t know how?”   
Snufkin blushed, and it was beautiful. “No.”   
So Moomin plucked a daisy, and gave it to Snufkin, and took his paws as he showed him the pattern._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________They brought Snufkin to lunch with them, back at Moominhouse. Snufkin was slowly warming up to them, telling jokes, playing games. Moomin’s heart swelled with each smile, each laugh.  
Mamma served them raspberry juice and sent them outside while she cleaned up. Snorkmaiden leaded against Moomin in the porch swing, Sniff perched on a lawn chair. Snufkin stared into the sky, sitting in the corner of the railing. Sniff told a joke, and it devolved into a mutual ribbing that filled the silence nicely.   
Then the silence was a little too full, and Moomin realized there was _music _. He looked up, and there was Snufkin, playing a mouth organ into the breeze. Moomin stopped mid-sentence, mouth agape, and fell in love all over again.  
Snufkin finished his song- Snorkmaiden and Sniff had stopped bickering, eventually- and turned back. He met Moomin’s eye, and for a moment they were trapped once again by each other’s gaze. Then applause broke in, and Moomin joined enthusiastically, and Snufkin ducked under his hat.  
“Snufkin.” Moomin said, the sound of it still sweet, and the boy peered up at him.  
“That was the loveliest thing I’ve ever heard.” he said, and meant it.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Moomin had been very young at the time- or so he told himself, to explain away the depth of the emotion he felt. It didn’t explain the call in his heart he still felt when he heard Snufkin’s voice, or the longing he felt whenever they were apart. But, well, that was a problem for future-Moomin._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
